


momentary lights

by Tohje



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: (duh), ...but in a peaceful way, Clone Wars era, M/M, Pining, Qui-Gon Jinn Lives, QuiObi Secret Santa, brief respite from war, overromanticizing aurora borealis just a tad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:34:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28134009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tohje/pseuds/Tohje
Summary: The borderland planet is in the middle of its polar night, and positively, sithly arctic. Quiet, in a way he has almost forgotten in the war.
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 5
Kudos: 26
Collections: QuiObi Secret Santa 2020





	momentary lights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wolfiefics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfiefics/gifts).



_\---_

_Winter emptied the trees, filled them again with snow._

_Because I couldn’t feel, snow fell, the lake froze over._

_Because I was afraid, I didn’t move._

_my breath was white, a description of silence._

_\---_

_Louise_ _Glück_ _, Averno_

“Here you go,” Qui-Gon says, presenting him with a… cube? "It's tangy. You will like it. Restores your energy." 

“Where did you --- Did somebody have the good sense to grab some emergency rations before the crash? I'll give that man a promotion.” Obi-Wan lowers his night vision binoculars. He takes care that their hands don’t touch as he accepts the cube. 

Their breaths are forming clouds in the biting cold air, but the triangular piece of food feels lukewarm in Obi-Wan’s hand. 

The borderland planet is in the middle of its polar night, and positively, sithly _arctic._ Quiet, in a way he has almost forgotten in the war. 

Unfamiliar stars wink at them from the pitch black sky. Coniferous trees stand tall and lean, heavily covered with ice. When he casts his senses outward, he spots very little activity; most of the fauna is hibernating under the blankets of snow. 

They stand on the top of the ridge. Their ship, irrevocably damaged, burns bright on the lowlands far beneath them. The accident scene is an impolite shriek in the silent night.

Qui-Gon shrugs. His eyes glint a little even in the dark as Obi-Wan squints at him. "There’s a village nearby.”

“You made contact already? No, wait, forget I even asked.” Obi-Wan curls his hands around the cube. He feels light-headed, even though he doesn’t remember hitting it anywhere during the forced landing. His ears ring in the quietness. Adrenaline high dying down, too soon; his men unharmed this time - _Qui-Gon_ unharmed - but soon badly frost-bitten if they don’t find shelter. He needs to keep on being vigilant. 

Their escape had been way too chaotic for his liking, had hung by a thread. 

“They found us. We weren’t exactly subtle with our landing. They are something different. You’ll see.” Qui-Gon’s delight is unmistakable even in the semi-darkness, despite him being soot-covered and poorly equipped against the cold. For a moment, a memory from the kinder past surfaces: there’s only master Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan on a mission, swept along some unexpected side path as always, and his master has got them involved in some bizarre situation. 

“Sirs,” Cody calls from the lower part of the slope, the snow stifling the echo, “you’d better come.” He sounds like he does when he is baffled and hiding it well, and that’s Obi-Wan’s hard-nosed commander they are talking about. Obi-Wan sighs, and would pinch the bridge of his nose if not holding the cube. 

“This must be a record; we have been shipwrecked for like an hour at most.”

“Eat the tangy thing, Obi-Wan. We don’t want to imply impoliteness and refuse their gift.” Qui-Gon’s eyes glint some more when they start to descend back to the emergency camp. 

The innocent little cube bursts like a small sun on his tongue, oranges and pomegranates and all things missing in the polar night filling Obi-Wan’s mouth. It’s what following Qui-Gon does to him, out of sight. He struggles to keep his composure, just for a second.

His ears ring. 

***

Okalalas are in these frozen highlands for one purpose only, it turns out; most of the year, their winter dwellings stand abandoned. In his padawan years, Obi-Wan had taken small, shameful pride in his gathering knowledge of the Galaxy, much thanks to the high demand set upon his master’s services. He has seen many corners and many wonders from a young age. When he catches himself thinking that Okalalas are definitely on the stranger side, he likes to think that at least he has some perspective. 

Still, it had been one of the earliest diplomatic lessons Qui-Gon had instilled in him: further away the other party was from your own species, that much harder the Jedi had to resist apprehension and distrust. Okalalas are far from humanoids, their appearance architectural, a play of ever-shifting layers and folds. But they need sustenance and shelter, and are sharing theirs, and it’s more than enough for Obi-Wan to be grateful to them. It’s just hard to know where to look when talking to one, for a humanoid instinctively searches the other party’s eyes. 

Or, like one of his men puts it, “It’s like trying to talk to an intelligent, huge slinky that keeps _frolicking_ around you.”

“Talking” is a bit of an overstatement, Obi-Wan privately thinks. Vocoder tells them that Okalalas are actually well-versed in Galactic Basic, but because of the ritualistic nature of their sojourn, they refuse to speak. Instead, they communicate with a series of whistles and hums and eerie, electric sounding cracks. The explanation loses its details over the translation, the device clearly lost with their ritual language, but it has something to do with polar night and connecting with their ancestors and whatnot. 

They are fascinated with Qui-Gon, shaping and reshaping themselves around him more than anyone else. Somehow it’s an alleviation for Obi-Wan. Some things stay the same even when most of the Galaxy goes to war and loses their minds. His men keep their distance, but Qui-Gon’s are subtly, drily amused, clearly used to this.

Obi-Wan takes one look, and after that, stares determinedly at the barely visible forest boundary. He blinks for an unreasonably long time.

It has been so long - before the war - since he has seen that look on Qui-Gon’s face. 

He would do so many things to see it much more often. He would like to see it gone before the war permanently wipes it from his master's face.

His ears have a hard time believing that the warning klaxons don't still ring. 

***

“Connecting with their ancestors” turns out to be inaccurate as well. As Hrghhm puts it later, it’s just exploring what they believe they will become after they die. 

Okalalas come to these highlands to celebrate the northern lights of midwinter.

It’s extraordinary, Obi-Wan has to admit that; massive curtains of light wavering above the winter village, banks of greens and blues and even additional reds rising and falling. Underneath it all, their men sleep, covered in furs, oblivious and exhausted. _“They are safe tonight. Nothing gets through the atmosphere tonight without us knowing. Not tonight,”_ vocoder chirps out Hrghhm’s conviction. 

The Force confirms it true. 

He exchanges looks with Qui-Gon. What an unexpected gift. _Do we even know what to do with such gifts anymore?_ Qui-Gon’s arched brow asks. Obi-Wan shakes his head, a small, unobtrusive movement. 

He can't let go of his guard. Something will happen. Something always happens, and it's always his watch now.

Their men sleep too deeply, snoring and drooling. 

"I bet they weren't offered cubes to eat", Obi-Wan quips at Qui-Gon. How promised safety lures an overtaxed mind. He can feel how his smile is tight, crooked. _We know your tricks_ , _you aren't fooling us,_ he means to communicate. 

Okalalas are extremely unconcerned. Qui-Gon's moustache barely twitches. 

Okalalas come to these highlands to talk with aurora, and they beckon Jedi to follow. Obi-Wan is about to refuse even before he properly considers the offer - they cannot leave men unprotected - when Qui-Gon touches his shoulder, very lightly. 

"The Force, Obi-Wan," he says quietly. And indeed,the Force heaves alongside the heavenly lights, more present that it has been for days or weeks, maybe even months. 

_Where is your trust, Jedi? Where is your faith in the Galaxy?_

_Can General still have that?_

He is not sure if he had failed without Qui-Gon's presence.

They wade through the banks of snow until they are actually sweating. Puffs of their breathing freeze on their faces. 

What’s more peculiar, they learn, the lights seem to talk _back_.

Obi-Wan has seen aurora before, one unforgettable time even from the space shuttle with his master, the lights emerging in the liminal place between space and the planet’s atmosphere. He hasn’t, however, examined them anywhere where it’s as quiet as these wildernesses. He, and apparently Qui-Gon either, hasn’t heard the lights’ eerie voices _._

They crack. They rustle. The vocoder thinks it is actually Okalalas speaking their ritual language. And when Okalala’s whistle and hum at them, the lights _surge_ and _dive_. They seem to _react._

Okalalas gather together to a loose circle, their singing intensifying, and the lights dance above them. Their ever-stopping shaping and re-shaping also quickens, their layers now reflecting the wildly surging aurora. 

Around them, the nighttime wilderness holds its breath.

"Do you think they can somehow manipulate the magnetosphere with their vocals? Imagine what you could do in-" Obi-Wan starts to say, turning to Qui-Gon, when a sight stops him mid-sentence. 

Qui-Gon has raised his face towards the aurora, the greens highlighting his hair and his cheeks. In the Force, he feels like a pond in midwinter, without stir, but water streams under his closed eyelids and freezes into his beard.

"We forget," he whispers. "The war makes us forget. The Galaxy is meant to be like this. Tho Force is meant for _this,_ not for creating havoc and causing damage." 

Obi-Wan swallows the rest of his idle pondering. 

_There's nobody else in the whole wide galaxy who can make me stop and_ **_see_ ** _like he does._

He doesn't voice any of that, of course, but Qui-Gon smiles anyway, his eyes still closed. 

They stand under the dancing lights and endless night for a long time. Eventually, they lean their shoulders together for warmth. Lights fade and eerie noises become a murmur just inside the hearing range. Tree trunks creak faintly in the cold. The stars are still unfamiliar, and behind them lurks war. 

It's easier to bear. 

Qui-Gon's breathing is steady on his side. 

Obi-Wan's mind is blessedly quiet.

Above them, the Force still dances.

**Author's Note:**

> For wolfiefics; Merry Christmas!
> 
> LuvEwan and outpastthemoat were lovely, encouraging themselves with this small piece.
> 
> Prompt was thus: Perhaps Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan stumble into or are invited to a winter festive celebration. They learn this culture's celebration of the season. Bonus if you use a non-Christian setup for the basis of occasion, such as pagan religions, Islam, Asian or aboriginal.Or make up one entirely from your brain! No Earth AUs, such as in modern Earth life. Want SW universe, extended fine. Prefer everyone living. Anakin need not be present but no objections if there. No threesomes. Want bright and happy please!


End file.
